was more than likely that the _seance_ had taken place
without Laurie; and, even at the worst, as Mr. Cathcart said, he was
probably only a little more excited than usual this morning.

So she began to think about future arrangements; and by the time that
Mrs. Baxter looked benignantly out at her from beneath the Queen Anne
doorway to tell her that breakfast was waiting, she was conceiving of
the possibility of going up herself to London in a week or two on some
shopping excuse, and of making one more genial attempt to persuade
Laurie to be a sensible boy again.

During her visit to the fowl-yard after breakfast she began to
elaborate these plans.

She was clear now, once again, that the whole thing was a fantastic
delusion, and that its sole harm was that it was superstitious and
nerve-shaking. (She threw a large handful of maize, with a meditative
eye.) It was on that ground and that only that she would approach
Laurie. Perhaps even it would be better for her not to go and see him;
it might appear that she was making too much of it: a good sensible
letter might do the work equally well.... Well, she would wait at
least to hear from Mr. Cathcart once more. The second post would
probably bring a letter from him. (She emptied her bowl.)

She was out again in the spring sunshine, walking up and down before
the house with a book, by the time that the second post was due. But
this time, through the iron gate, she saw the postman go past the
house without stopping. Once more her spirits rose, this time, one
might say, to par; and she went indoors.

Her window looked out on to the front; and she moved her writing-table
to it to catch as much as possible of the radiant air and light of the
spring day. She proposed to begin to sketch out what she would say to
Laurie, and suggest, if he wished it, to come up and see him in a week
or two. She would apologize for her fussiness, and say that the reason
why she was writing was that she did not want his mother to be made
anxious.

"My dear Laurie..."

She bit her pen gently, and looked out of the window to catch
inspiration for the particular frame of words with which she should
begin. And as she looked an old gentleman suddenly appeared beyond the
iron gate, shook it gently, glanced up in vain for a name on the stone
posts, and stood irresolute. It was an old trap, that of the front
gate; there was no bell, and it was necessary for visitors to come
straight in to the front